Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding)(38)

Rough times.

Jackson’s stomach knotted painfully. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Coach’s cancer on the way over, foolishly thinking they might be able to talk like it wasn’t the pink elephant in the room.

He couldn’t make up his mind whether it helped or not that Coach thought he and Hayley were in it for the long haul. Hayley had left that little detail out. Or was that just Coach making his own assumption? Jackson had certainly never given Hayley the impression that he was staying, so he couldn’t imagine her thinking otherwise.

Thinking about leaving now, though, didn’t seem like the good idea it had last night when he’d been stranded in the rain. His agent had texted this morning to tell him that the Sentinels would be flying Jackson up for an interview any day now. He knew he would have been more excited about it if he hadn’t been so preoccupied lately.

“And don’t let Millie chase you off,” Coach threw in.

“Millie?” Jackson frowned. The old man wasn’t talking about his dead wife, was he? Maybe Millie was a nurse or another local? Or was this some kind of confusion tied to his disease? Neither Hayley nor Matt had mentioned it.

“She’s been banging doors around the place since I got sick. She’s always been protective.”

Coach thought his wife’s ghost was responsible for the old house’s bad drafts and slamming doors? Did Hayley know about that?

“Better take me back to my room before that Nazi of a nurse calls a code for a missing person,” Coach grumbled.

Jackson pushed the wheelchair back inside, relieved the old man left the ghost topic alone on the elevator ride back to his floor. Instead he chatted about the hospital food not being so bad and how hot his oncologist was. “Stacked to the nines,” he added, holding his hands out in front of him.

Jackson laughed, and Coach reached back and gave his hand a tap and a brief squeeze that said everything they hadn’t about him being sick.

Christ.

Throat tight, he kept his head down, falling into silence for the rest of the walk.

Ahead, a nurse walked toward them, an almost painful-looking scowl on her face.

Coach’s hand shot into the air as they passed her. “Heil, Trudy.”

The nurse rolled her eyes and mumbled back something that sounded a lot like “crazy bastard” and kept walking.

Inside Coach’s room, Jackson helped him out of the wheelchair, hoping he didn’t want to rest yet. He didn’t want to see him disappear under the covers again so soon. Outside of the hospital, Jackson could almost make himself believe there wasn’t anything wrong with the old man, but here among the medical equipment designed to give Coach as much comfort as possible in his remaining days, there was no hiding from how sick he was.

Whether or not Coach picked up on Jackson’s tension, he chose to sit in the chair. “I know you’ll be good to my girl. God knows she needs someone she can rely on in her life.”

Jackson had been labeled a lot of things but reliable hadn’t ever been one of them, not off the rink anyway.

“Heard you’re up for a coaching job.”

He nodded. “I’m a little worried about that, though.” It was the first time he’d voiced the concern aloud. It wasn’t as big of a concern as the fear that coaching other guys who could still play hockey would turn him into even more of an * than he’d been after the accident.

“Do you remember the first thing you asked me when you joined the team?”

Jackson thought it over, then laughed. “I asked how long until you could make me the best.”

Coach nodded, leaning forward to straighten a blanket over his legs. “And what did I say?”

“What makes you think you could be the best?” he imitated in his best booming Coach voice.

“Okay, what did I say after that part?”

“That it was all up to me.”

“And?” he prompted.

Jackson grinned. “And you were right.”

Coach relaxed back in his chair, his eyes heavy, tired. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect, Jack.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You belonged on the ice with a stick in your hand, but it never defined you.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrowed like he wasn’t sure which one of them Jackson was trying to fool. “I think you loved to skate more than you loved to play hockey, you know. You’d show up almost an hour early for every practice just so you could have the rink to yourself. You rarely worked on shooting or drills before the other guys got there.”

Jackson laughed, reminded of the all the times he’d stepped out onto the ice when there hadn’t been another soul in the place except the maintenance guy. No one to impress, or keep an eye on so he wasn’t jumped from behind. No strategy or watching for player weaknesses.

Just him and the ice.

“Winning wasn’t everything to you.”

Now there he had to disagree. “I always wanted to win.”

“Games, sure, but that wasn’t what made you a good player.”

Jackson flexed one of his biceps, and Coach laughed.

“No, it wasn’t those fists and the fighting that made people love to watch you play.”

“Oh?”

Coach patted his arm. “It’s because you were fearless, Jack. And that’s why you’ll make a great coach.” When the old man’s eyes started to drift shut, Jackson retreated toward the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” And every day until he left town. It was the least he could do for a man who’d set him on a path that had changed his life.

Coach mumbled something, and Jackson only caught the end of it. “Glad I didn’t have to cut off your pecker, Jack.”





Jackson was still wondering about Coach’s last remark when he stood back to survey his progress. He continued to ignore the sensation that someone was watching him, as he had for the last few hours. But after the second time in ten minutes of feeling someone in the doorway, he caved and turned around. Not surprisingly, no one was there. Still, he set aside the drill and walked down the hall of Coach’s place.

The door in the middle of the hall was shut, although he couldn’t remember hearing it slam.

He walked toward it. “Millie?” The moment the name left his lips he laughed at himself, feeling utterly ridiculous. He didn’t believe in ghosts and here he was talking to one. Scratch that, there wasn’t any ghost.

“Mr. Knight?”

Jackson whirled at the sound of his name, holding on to the unexpected yelp that jumped up his throat.

Shit. Those kids really needed to stop sneaking up on him. He glanced at the open front door at Cody and Brent, the same two as before. The younger one with CF was no doubt at the bottom of the steps out front.

“Would you be up for a game of road hockey?”

The two teens stared at him expectantly, and he was thankfully saved from answering when Hayley came along behind them.

“Hey guys.” She glanced at Jackson, something passing in her eyes—annoyance?—then fixed her attention on the boys. “Did I promise to run drills for you guys?”

“Nope. We wanted to see if Jackson—”

“Mr. Knight,” Cody corrected.

“If he wanted to play a game of road hockey,” Brent finished. “If your knee is good, I mean.”

This time he had three of them staring at him expectantly. Great.

“If you guys had come along a couple hours ago,” Jackson began, “it wouldn’t have been a problem.” He took a step forward, not having a clue what prompted the fake limp. “I had a little accident stepping off the ladder earlier. I don’t think it would hold up to a game of road hockey.”

He didn’t have to force the wince on his face at least. Going up and down the ladder this afternoon had made his knee ache like a bitch, adding a little credibility to the limp.

“No problem.” Marginally disappointed, the kids turned their attention to Hayley.

“You should have seen the goal Cody landed on Patrick I’m-the-biggest-douchebag Kingston this afternoon. Slipped it right beneath Patrick’s butt.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Cody grinned despite the humble response.

Brent rolled his eyes. “But that wasn’t even the best part. Patrick goes flying backward, knocks the net over, and it set off this whole chain reaction that ends with my brother’s motorcycle falling over.”

“I thought he was going to kick all our asses,” Cody put in.

“Except the bike nearly squished Mabel Standish’s miniature poodle. By the time she was done yelling at him, my brother’s face was beet red and he was apologizing to us.” Brent smiled. “I didn’t think there was any other woman in town with balls as big as yours, Hayley.”